


Sweet Tea and Burgunday Blankets

by xxwrote_my_way_outxx



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: Andrierre, Angst, Asexual, Asexual!Pierre, Fluff, Gay, It's A Complicated Russian Romance, Low Self-Esteem, M/M, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-12 01:31:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11726706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxwrote_my_way_outxx/pseuds/xxwrote_my_way_outxx
Summary: He was buried in burgundy blankets as Andrey read to him.Pierre had never imagined that he would be in the bed of his best friend with his tired, sore head lodged in the comfort of his lap.





	Sweet Tea and Burgunday Blankets

He was buried in burgundy blankets as Andrei read to him. 

Pierre had never imagined that he would be in the bed of his best friend with his tired, sore head lodged in the comfort of his lap. His breath or the others did not smell of wine or vodka, and there was just simple, intimate touches between them. Pierre had a simple cold, probably brought onto him due to the stress of his marriage or the stress of his past. Helene was out of town seeing her father, or so she said. She was most likely bedding yet another man behind his back. He didn’t understand why she even tried to cover it anymore when it was the talk of all of Moscow. He was an embarrassment to himself. Though, Andrei didn’t seem to think much of it and decided to take the week to visit his lover. 

“You are tired. You should rest.” 

“I like listening to you read. Your voice is soothing.”

“You look exhausted, love…”

 

“Life is exhausting, you are not.” 

Andrei sighed softly and buried his hand back into Pierre’s coarse locks and started to read to him again. He wasn’t even sure what he was reading. It was some sort of philosophy novella that the sad man kept in his study on his desk. He would never understand why the man would read this. He found it dry, though he was happy that the man of little self-worth found joy in it. 

Pierre laid in a peaceful position throughout the whole night save for when Andrei had gotten up to make them tea, which made Pierre paranoid that he was going to go. He said nothing. He never said anything. He had to trust the man unlike his wife for it was the only thing that gave his life meaning anymore. His heart stopped aching when the older man returned with the hot tea and handed him the cup, having let it cool for a few moments so Pierre wouldn’t hurt himself more than he already had before. Once the tea was finished the cups were forgotten on his nightstand and his tired head found refuge once more in the heat of the man’s strong lap. 

Instead of reading to him this time, Pierre had asked him questions about the war with great curiosity, wondering what it was like and how things were going against the French. Andrei found his enthusiasm cute and childish, though felt his own heart shudder when he remembered the fear he had when he thought he would never see his best friend, now lover, ever again. 

“I missed you terribly during the war.”

“You are the only hope I wished for when I came home.”

“What about Natalya Rostova?”

“She is nothing compared to you, mon cher.” 

Pierre sighed softly in content at what the other expressed, not sure how to react. He had never been able to feel… this way before. He was never allowed to feel this feeling, because his wife stole that chance from him. She stole his worth and sold it to the nearest most available man that she could find. She spent his funds on drinks and other men, allowing herself to escape from a marriage that she destroyed while leaving him to be the husk of a man that he used to be. He used to be shy and withdrawn, but now he was just pathetic. 

“You do not mean that.”

“I speak the truth of my heart, Pierre, old friend. Can you not trust in my love for you?”

“Nobody has loved me before.” 

“That is untrue. I have loved you for many years.” 

Pierre felt tears prick his eyes and he glanced up at the man, pulling the burgundy blankets around them a bit tighter, making Pierre feel secure in that they were bound together. Andrei lifted his head from his lap and looked over his face, meeting his gaze. He was searching for something, some form of permission. Pierre had not been active in a long time and it had taken him awhile to even allow Andrei to kiss him. It was as if walking on egg-shells, and Andrei was more than willing to if it meant Pierre would be comfortable and feel safe with him. Pierre had no desires or sexual urges any longer, and he wasn’t sure if he ever did, and Andrei respected that. He loved Pierre for existing, not to dote on his body or find some sort of pleasure in him. Their pleasure was sharing their life together. Pierre sighed softly and they shared a soft, loving kiss, breathing softly on eachothers lips in a calm and affectionate way. 

“And I have loved you for many years longer, dear friend.”


End file.
